Darkness Brings the Dawn: Erik's Story
Most of what has to be said about Darkness Brings the Dawn: Erik’s Story has already been put forth eloquently in this Amazon.com review. I don’t actually have an explanation as to why I took it upon myself to page through the entire thing--but for you, my dear readers.
Once again, I take on this burden to spare you.
Jodie Leisure Minton’s novel is, from first glance, clearly self-published. Perhaps this fact ought to excuse it from the thrashing it’s about to get, but it doesn’t. The writing, never mind the plot, is so full of holes and missteps that one wonders if she even used a spell check. She certainly didn’t have an editor or beta.
The novel opens after the film ends. And it’s clear, from the Preface, that we’re dealing with the 2004 film. Specifically, with Gerard Butler’s “tremendous talent”: “Through his eyes, his expressions, and his mannerisms, I was able to feel not only what the Phantom was thinking on the surface that made the scene flow to perfection, but what he felt deep within his tortured soul.”
This lovely bit of prose is, in fact, indicative of the entire tortured thing. The plot centers around Monique “or Bonnie,” a young lass of fiery red hair and a temperament to match, who is “passing” as Jake, an 11 year old boy. I use the sarcasm quotes because Monique is apparently prepubescent and undetectable until Erik discovers her ruse, at which time a torrent of red curls down to her waist and tremendous, heaving bosoms which strain the buttons of Erik’s own borrowed shirt make their appearance. And her dress size never changes, whether she’s wearing a corset or not.
What follows is a smörgåsbord of missed opportunities, rampant non-communication and unforgivable plot contrivances. The characters’ thoughts are supplied so fully that it’s clear the whole book might have been over in about two chapters had either of them actually said half of what they were thinking. But as it is, there are plenty of opportunities to mention Erik’s “lean, hard” frame, his “massive” size, and Monique’s “tiny” assorted body parts. Except for her boobs, of course. In fact, I think I could make a drinking game using every mention of “tiny,” “massive,” “britches” and every time they deliberately misunderstand each other. Good, if you want to pass out in about in ten minutes.
Erik decides he needs stowaway Monique as a traveling companion so he can make it to England safely. Monique agrees, and they both proceed to act as though the other believes it‘s strictly business while fervently hoping it isn‘t. So there is much angsting. And much misuse of the English language. Some choice flubs (the first is Minton‘s, the second the correct word):
Taunt/taut
Revelry/reverie
Cherry/cheery
Illusive/elusive
Lightening/lightning
Refuse/refuge
Bulked/balked
Bazaar/bizarre (as in dreams)
Reigned/rained (wet kisses)
Winched/winced
Hardy/hearty
Put on heirs/airs
Plaque/plague
Breakfast sconces/just think about it
Those are just the ones I caught on my skim-through. And her randomly-sprinkled French is terrible, with “mon cherie“ and “m’sieur” everywhere, sometimes misspelled. Honestly, there’s no point in going on, is there? I mean, it’s all self-evident: Monique is attacked then rescued; they pretend to be married; they fight; Erik rapes her and she enjoys the hell out of it; they make up; they get married and have fourteen children.
That is not hyperbole. FOURTEEN CHILDREN. Not to mention the brats Erik keeps bringing home from the streets of London to fill up his new mansion (with accompanying bought title). AND THEN HE STARTS A SCHOOL. FOR CHILDREN.
On top of it all, everyone and their mother seems to love Erik. The only people who don’t are already evil. Much is made of his discomfort in doing around in public, but he does it all the time and even, sometimes, without his mask (on the absurd grounds that the opera house was known to have been burned down by a masked man and obviously anyone traveling in France with a mask must be an arson). Anyone who’s in his presence more than five minutes is willing to do anything at all for him and his bonnie young bride. It kind of makes you wonder what excuse he had for living underground for thirty years.
Oh, wait. This is Gerik. I forgot. Just like emo!kitten, he doesn’t need an excuse.
But I should shut up now, and let the text speak for itself. I’ve chosen my favorite parts for your reading enjoyment.
“Suddenly Erik’s tall, massive body loomed above her, dripping with danger, He bent down with a lightening speed that surprised her, wrapping his arm around her tiny waist and lifting her up easily, balancing her on his hip, as he strode back to the fire.”
I recommend not sleeping with toddlers, personally.
I’m not going to recount the whole “masterful virgin” scene here. But it’s there, make no mistake. “He had played her body like an instrument, loved her to heights she had only imagined, and melted them into one.” There’s also something about his “seed jet[ting] hotly.”
On the boat to England, the organ player (?) goes missing. “By God, they were out in the middle of the frickin’ water!… a few other members of the crew dabbled at playing, but were a bit hard on the ears. He would just have to talk them into it. He had absolutely no choice. Music in the elite salon at dinner was expected by the guests!”
Oh, and the captain of this illustrious vessel? None other than one Ian McShane. It’s too bad he didn’t tell him to just open the fucking canned peaches.
But no! Erik saves the day. See if you can follow this: “As the sound of the organ drifted toward his finely tuned musician’s ear, Erik’s body was bombarded with a massive jolt of memories, shock waves invading his senses with a blinding force, shutting off his realization of both time and awareness. [Then he has lair flashbacks. With candles.] Without warning, Erik got up from his place at the table, every muscle in his body taut, his thoughts clearly not in the present… Erik sat down at the organ, slowly placing his long elegant fingers gingerly on the keys, their cold familiar touch administering a rueful, almost toxic anesthetic to his shattered mind... A kind of ethereal trance spread throughout the smoky room as the guests listened, wondering who this man was that held them bound with his faultless technique and his magical power, pulling them into the depths of his intoxicating music!”
“A wide bolt of lightening rent the night just beyond the bowsprit, illuminating a tall black figure in sharp relief like a backward lithograph.”
“…his massive black, ebony pipe organ with its silver pipes that stretched up towards the vaulted ceiling, and the monumental amount of draped mirrors that could unmask his secret.”
I don’t even need to say it, do I?
“The pained expression she saw mirrored in his eyes even beyond the mask, almost made her weep, causing a twinge of momentary regret. But not enough regret to make her sorry.”
not enough regret to make her sorry.
I bet she’s sorry when the lol!rape comes, except for how, “part of her was slightly afraid and part of her was not, knowing ultimately that he would never intentionally hurt her. Catching her wrists…” Then, right after, they do it again. Now, just to be clear--it’s specified that Erik acts “without regard” for Monique’s comfort or pleasure. Just in case you were thinking of the nice kind of rape that is foreplay.
Things get especially rich when the boat is caught in a storm and Erik’s the only person who can save them all: “’I will return just as soon as I know what the magnitude of the situation is that we are facing,’ he said intently, making Monique giggle, because Erik sometimes could be so ridiculously formal.” Hmm. And whose tortured prose does he sound like?
“’I am an engineer of construction and architecture by profession,’” also says Erik, offering his services to Ian McShane. “Fuck architecture! I need a goddamn boat!” McShane tactfully refrains from saying.
Monique gets a veterinary license: “The idea of shooting horses instead of tending their wounds was just so barbaric.” Yes, dear. I know that most people are just looking for an excuse to off their expensive, useful animals.
A “many sided rapier’ makes an appearance.
Erik gets even more masterful: “’Please Erik, release me! I love you! You’re a drug to me and I need you!”
Finally (gasp!) Erik must tell Monique the truth about his horrid past. About when he “began running the opera house in the music genre.” Oh, and that girl, Christine. “’Whose Christine?’” asks Monique. Why, Erik’s, of course! But worry not, little Monique/Bonnie, for you are “the only woman he had ever loved!”
This might be my favorite, for its utter nonsensicalness: “A sense of urgency in telling Monique about his past was building within him, knowing that the time was coming to an end when he could hide it no longer, leaving him once again vulnerable, creating a great sense of being afraid and uneasy.”
I can’t do this anymore. I’ve slogged enough. Still, it’s comforting to know that my library is open-minded enough to stock this amazing novel. And that Minton was able to finagle things in such a way as to get Gerik into a kilt for the wedding.
Once again, I take on this burden to spare you.
Jodie Leisure Minton’s novel is, from first glance, clearly self-published. Perhaps this fact ought to excuse it from the thrashing it’s about to get, but it doesn’t. The writing, never mind the plot, is so full of holes and missteps that one wonders if she even used a spell check. She certainly didn’t have an editor or beta.
The novel opens after the film ends. And it’s clear, from the Preface, that we’re dealing with the 2004 film. Specifically, with Gerard Butler’s “tremendous talent”: “Through his eyes, his expressions, and his mannerisms, I was able to feel not only what the Phantom was thinking on the surface that made the scene flow to perfection, but what he felt deep within his tortured soul.”
This lovely bit of prose is, in fact, indicative of the entire tortured thing. The plot centers around Monique “or Bonnie,” a young lass of fiery red hair and a temperament to match, who is “passing” as Jake, an 11 year old boy. I use the sarcasm quotes because Monique is apparently prepubescent and undetectable until Erik discovers her ruse, at which time a torrent of red curls down to her waist and tremendous, heaving bosoms which strain the buttons of Erik’s own borrowed shirt make their appearance. And her dress size never changes, whether she’s wearing a corset or not.
What follows is a smörgåsbord of missed opportunities, rampant non-communication and unforgivable plot contrivances. The characters’ thoughts are supplied so fully that it’s clear the whole book might have been over in about two chapters had either of them actually said half of what they were thinking. But as it is, there are plenty of opportunities to mention Erik’s “lean, hard” frame, his “massive” size, and Monique’s “tiny” assorted body parts. Except for her boobs, of course. In fact, I think I could make a drinking game using every mention of “tiny,” “massive,” “britches” and every time they deliberately misunderstand each other. Good, if you want to pass out in about in ten minutes.
Erik decides he needs stowaway Monique as a traveling companion so he can make it to England safely. Monique agrees, and they both proceed to act as though the other believes it‘s strictly business while fervently hoping it isn‘t. So there is much angsting. And much misuse of the English language. Some choice flubs (the first is Minton‘s, the second the correct word):
Taunt/taut
Revelry/reverie
Cherry/cheery
Illusive/elusive
Lightening/lightning
Refuse/refuge
Bulked/balked
Bazaar/bizarre (as in dreams)
Reigned/rained (wet kisses)
Winched/winced
Hardy/hearty
Put on heirs/airs
Plaque/plague
Breakfast sconces/just think about it
Those are just the ones I caught on my skim-through. And her randomly-sprinkled French is terrible, with “mon cherie“ and “m’sieur” everywhere, sometimes misspelled. Honestly, there’s no point in going on, is there? I mean, it’s all self-evident: Monique is attacked then rescued; they pretend to be married; they fight; Erik rapes her and she enjoys the hell out of it; they make up; they get married and have fourteen children.
That is not hyperbole. FOURTEEN CHILDREN. Not to mention the brats Erik keeps bringing home from the streets of London to fill up his new mansion (with accompanying bought title). AND THEN HE STARTS A SCHOOL. FOR CHILDREN.
On top of it all, everyone and their mother seems to love Erik. The only people who don’t are already evil. Much is made of his discomfort in doing around in public, but he does it all the time and even, sometimes, without his mask (on the absurd grounds that the opera house was known to have been burned down by a masked man and obviously anyone traveling in France with a mask must be an arson). Anyone who’s in his presence more than five minutes is willing to do anything at all for him and his bonnie young bride. It kind of makes you wonder what excuse he had for living underground for thirty years.
Oh, wait. This is Gerik. I forgot. Just like emo!kitten, he doesn’t need an excuse.
But I should shut up now, and let the text speak for itself. I’ve chosen my favorite parts for your reading enjoyment.
“Suddenly Erik’s tall, massive body loomed above her, dripping with danger, He bent down with a lightening speed that surprised her, wrapping his arm around her tiny waist and lifting her up easily, balancing her on his hip, as he strode back to the fire.”
I recommend not sleeping with toddlers, personally.
I’m not going to recount the whole “masterful virgin” scene here. But it’s there, make no mistake. “He had played her body like an instrument, loved her to heights she had only imagined, and melted them into one.” There’s also something about his “seed jet[ting] hotly.”
On the boat to England, the organ player (?) goes missing. “By God, they were out in the middle of the frickin’ water!… a few other members of the crew dabbled at playing, but were a bit hard on the ears. He would just have to talk them into it. He had absolutely no choice. Music in the elite salon at dinner was expected by the guests!”
Oh, and the captain of this illustrious vessel? None other than one Ian McShane. It’s too bad he didn’t tell him to just open the fucking canned peaches.
But no! Erik saves the day. See if you can follow this: “As the sound of the organ drifted toward his finely tuned musician’s ear, Erik’s body was bombarded with a massive jolt of memories, shock waves invading his senses with a blinding force, shutting off his realization of both time and awareness. [Then he has lair flashbacks. With candles.] Without warning, Erik got up from his place at the table, every muscle in his body taut, his thoughts clearly not in the present… Erik sat down at the organ, slowly placing his long elegant fingers gingerly on the keys, their cold familiar touch administering a rueful, almost toxic anesthetic to his shattered mind... A kind of ethereal trance spread throughout the smoky room as the guests listened, wondering who this man was that held them bound with his faultless technique and his magical power, pulling them into the depths of his intoxicating music!”
“A wide bolt of lightening rent the night just beyond the bowsprit, illuminating a tall black figure in sharp relief like a backward lithograph.”
“…his massive black, ebony pipe organ with its silver pipes that stretched up towards the vaulted ceiling, and the monumental amount of draped mirrors that could unmask his secret.”
I don’t even need to say it, do I?
“The pained expression she saw mirrored in his eyes even beyond the mask, almost made her weep, causing a twinge of momentary regret. But not enough regret to make her sorry.”
not enough regret to make her sorry.
I bet she’s sorry when the lol!rape comes, except for how, “part of her was slightly afraid and part of her was not, knowing ultimately that he would never intentionally hurt her. Catching her wrists…” Then, right after, they do it again. Now, just to be clear--it’s specified that Erik acts “without regard” for Monique’s comfort or pleasure. Just in case you were thinking of the nice kind of rape that is foreplay.
Things get especially rich when the boat is caught in a storm and Erik’s the only person who can save them all: “’I will return just as soon as I know what the magnitude of the situation is that we are facing,’ he said intently, making Monique giggle, because Erik sometimes could be so ridiculously formal.” Hmm. And whose tortured prose does he sound like?
“’I am an engineer of construction and architecture by profession,’” also says Erik, offering his services to Ian McShane. “Fuck architecture! I need a goddamn boat!” McShane tactfully refrains from saying.
Monique gets a veterinary license: “The idea of shooting horses instead of tending their wounds was just so barbaric.” Yes, dear. I know that most people are just looking for an excuse to off their expensive, useful animals.
A “many sided rapier’ makes an appearance.
Erik gets even more masterful: “’Please Erik, release me! I love you! You’re a drug to me and I need you!”
Finally (gasp!) Erik must tell Monique the truth about his horrid past. About when he “began running the opera house in the music genre.” Oh, and that girl, Christine. “’Whose Christine?’” asks Monique. Why, Erik’s, of course! But worry not, little Monique/Bonnie, for you are “the only woman he had ever loved!”
This might be my favorite, for its utter nonsensicalness: “A sense of urgency in telling Monique about his past was building within him, knowing that the time was coming to an end when he could hide it no longer, leaving him once again vulnerable, creating a great sense of being afraid and uneasy.”
I can’t do this anymore. I’ve slogged enough. Still, it’s comforting to know that my library is open-minded enough to stock this amazing novel. And that Minton was able to finagle things in such a way as to get Gerik into a kilt for the wedding.